Mako Reactor

I respectfully credit all Original Creators, namely Squaresoft, which became SquareEnix,for these characters. In this way, I pay homage to my Fandom's Original Creator, and illustrate my Community's belief that Fan Fiction is "fair use". I do not claim to own these characters. I do not make money or gil from using these protected characters, nor do I wish to make money or gil from them. In other words, I am borrowing these characters to entertain the adult fanfiction community, but I am doing so with the highest degree of respect to the engineers, game designers, music makers, and voice actors.


Kisaragi cleaned up the blood on the floor with my ruined lab coat and tossed it in the fire. “You found a bottle of something!” she said, running over to me. I looked down at her eager eyes, judging her age. Yes, she was still young enough to find alcohol an amusing diversion. I handed it to her.

“Can you drink this by yourself?” Seven hundred and fifty milliliters of grain alcohol could take down a fat chocobo. I wanted none of it. Alcohol usually made me quite, quite sick.

“Are you kidding, Jo?” Kisaragi laughed and cracked the wax seal on the bottle, turning it up and taking five good swallows.

I waited for her lips to blister, but nothing happened. It would have served her right for calling me ‘Jo’. Still, she had an annoying sort of charm, and I found I didn’t really want her to blister. She attempted friendliness, a good change from staring and glaring at a distance. Plus, she was a young girl. She didn’t have that nasty taint that age brought.

“Miss Kisaragi,” I said, plucking the bottle from her and putting it down on the table. “You walk around here for ten minutes. If you aren’t reeling drunk, come back for the bottle.”

“He’s right,” the gunner said. “You gotta prove to us you ain’t gonna be no liability tomorrow.”

“Awww,” Kisaragi whined, sticking out her lip. She proceeded to perform a variety of acrobatics for us, proving some fifteen minutes later that the alcohol hadn’t affected her in the slightest.

I shot a glance at the big man in the corner. He nodded and shrugged as if to say, ‘What can we do?’ I walked away, made myself comfortable in a chair, and drew patterns in the dust on the table.

“Hey,” the ninja said, sitting down beside me. She drank again before continuing any talk. “Was Vince really a bully in school?”

“You’ll have to confirm it by asking him,” I said. “I didn’t attend school with the Turk.”

“Yuffie, don’t ask questions like that.”

“Come on, Barret,” Kisaragi said, rolling her eyes. “You wanted to know too, didn’t ya?”

“Nope.”

“Liar.”

“I ain’t no liar!” Barret made a fist.

“Then you don’t know yourself very well.” Kisaragi drew a series of crossing lines in the table dust. “Play tic-tac-toe with me, Jo,” she said. “No one ever plays games with me. They all get tired of me by the end of the day.”

“I wonder why?” Barret mumbled.

Youthful energy never bothered me, which was fortunate because I’d raised the worst example of it ever born. I looked down at the ninja’s young, almost innocent face and felt my demeanor of apathy slipping. No, not almost innocent, truly innocent. She’d not been sexually adventurous yet; she’d come from a sheltering family, and her friends did sheltering of their own.

I drew an X in the middle box.

Her face lit up like a torch. She drew an O above my mark.

We continued. I won, of course. She didn’t seem the least bit upset, which made me suspicious. I caught movement near my side and dropped my hand down, catching her as she picked my pocket. She grinned up at me, holding onto my tie. “It’s just a silly old tie,” she said, half protesting, half complaining.

I stuffed it back in my pocket and let go of her. “Not that it matters to you, Miss Kisaragi, but I raised a child capable of picking your pocket in plain view.” She couldn’t have that tie. I’d have it bronzed if I could.

“Aw shit,” Barret said. “Now you done it, doc. That’s like throwing down a gauntlet.”

I looked at her. That smile made me want to check my fillings. Slowly, I extended a tentacle from my back and grabbed a piece of charcoal from the fireplace. Her eyes tracked the movement, fascinated. I held the lump before her gaze. “Find paper,” I said.

In a few minutes she found a stack of used paper near the fireplace. Looking quite happy, she sat across from me and we played several more rounds of tic-tac-toe.

“You’re not so bad,” she blurted out thirty minutes later. “I’ve made friends with worse.”

“I’ve never met anyone worse than me,” I replied.

Barret laughed but said nothing.

“They exist.” Kisaragi dropped the now diminished lump of charcoal and sat back. “My first bodyguard loved to kill people. I think he would have tried to kill me in a second if daddy’d given the word.” She put her arms behind her head, smiled up at the ceiling as if in fond remembrance. “But, most of the family was like that.”

Again I threw the gunner a look.

“She ain’t lyin’,” he reported.

I sketched her image on a blank sheet of paper, listening to her talk. She talked and talked and talked about nothing until Barret stood up and demanded silence. His shouting woke Lockhart, who tumbled off the chair. Groaning, she stood up.

“The rest are still gone?” she asked, looking around.

“They’ve only been gone an hour,” Kisaragi replied. “Hey, how cool!” She snatched up the drawing. “This looks just like me! Can I have it?”

“I’ll draw more of them if you’ll keep your hands out of my pockets,” I offered.

She pulled her lips to one side in a wry smile. “Nice try, gramps.”

I kept her eyes. “Then, perhaps a better impetus is keeping your fingers?”

She looked at me, eyes wide and incredulous. “You’d do that? You’d cut off my fingers? After we bonded over tic-tac-toe?”

“He let his wife almost die in labor, Yuffie,” Lockhart said, coming over to us. “You think he’ll hesitate to take your fingers off?”

Kisaragi’s dark brown eyes regarded me solemnly. “No, I don’t think he would,” she said, surprising me and possibly everyone else. “Jo wouldn’t cut my fingers off; he likes me.”

She already had the measure of the new and improved Professor Hojo.

Defeated, I made a mental note to make routine checks of my pockets and pack.

Kisaragi took the bottle up again.

“Are you drinking?” Lockhart yanked it away. “Yuffie, this is pure grain!”

“It’s not too bad, either,” the ninja said, grabbing for the bottle, which Lockhart kept aloft. “Hey,” she protested. “Jo gave that to me, not you!”

Lockhart rounded on me. “You gave a seventeen-year-old pure grain alcohol?”

“I doubt you can hold your liquor as well as she can,” I challenged. “Wutainians are raised on it. They have very good livers, in general.”

“That doesn’t give you the right-.” She began, but I’d had enough. I cut her off.

“You aren’t her mother. If she can fight alongside you, she can drink with you, Lockhart.”

“That is fucked up,” she said, cursing within my earshot for the first time. “In times like this we use everybody we can get, including children, but that doesn’t mean she should rot out her liver by the time she’s twenty!”

“But, it’s quite alright to bleed to death rather than let me help you,” I pointed out. “You only accepted my help because little Miss Kisaragi displayed bravery to beat yours. She was willing to sew you up even when you weren’t willing to accept help.”

“Aw, shit,” Barret said.

We glared at each other, the pugilist and I. She put the bottle down with an angry thump and stalked out into the night.

Kisaragi gave the liquor a little shove with her forefinger. “I just wanted to relax a little,” she sighed. “Would you drink with me, Jo?”

“I can’t drink,” I told her, shaking my head. “It makes me sick.”

“But, aren’t you from Wutai?”

“Yes, but I’m full of mako and J-Cells. Both make drinking a bad idea.”

“Oh.” She looked at Barret. “How about you?”

The gunner sighed. “Yeah, alrigh’,” he conceded.

****************************************************************************************

I stepped outside at three in the morning to get a smoke, knowing the odor would wake everyone up. The smokes tasted like the ocean, but I didn’t care. I needed the nicotine.

A golden claw plucked the cigarette from my hand. I watched the ember tumbling over and over into the night as it was flicked away. In the next moment I had my back to a porch column and Valentine’s face in mine. His red gaze burned me. Putting his metal-clad fingers in my hair, he pulled my head to the side and exposed my neck.

“Remind me,” he said, his voice the grinding of stone on stone. “Your left side has the bite from behind; the right will be from the front. I want a good fit for my teeth when I drink.”

“Of course,” I replied, grabbing the wooden pole behind me.

“And, stop the cigarettes,” he went on. “You’re starting to taste like smoked meat.”

Even as I laughed, he sank his teeth into me. I gasped. That pleasure/pain combination really didn’t get old, not a bit.

At first he drank from me swiftly, his suction hard enough to bring a bruise on my flesh. When I didn’t struggle, he soon relaxed a little. He caged me in with his arms to either side, not touching, instead of holding my head. I inhaled the scent of him and my own blood, feeling that artificial but welcome calm his saliva transmitted. He stimulated me even while his chemistry prompted me to relax and submit.

Slowly, I braced my hand on his chest. I felt hard muscle underneath leather straps. He jerked a little, growling a warning. Don’t touch, that advice said. I didn’t bother to heed him. He would do what he would do, and, I would do what I would do.

I ran my hand down his chest at my leisure, feeling him shiver. My fingers dragged the straps, skimmed over the flat, oiled leather in between. Down I traveled, sensing my blood draining faster again. He raced me, intending to render me unconscious before I could reach a pertinent area.

Lazily, I flattened my hand over his slender side and kept it there. Again, he slowed.

My cock stood so hard and proud it hurt. I closed my eyes. Soon he had to support me. And, soon after that, darkness took my sight altogether.


When I awoke I lay in the cabin, all other people besides Valentine gone. I sat up. His crimson stare glowed like an LED display.

“Why do you taste good?” he demanded.

“I thought I was like jerky,” I countered, wrestling out of the sleeping bag.

“Where are you going?”

“To take a piss off the front porch,” I answered.

He followed me. I didn’t question it, merely unbuttoned my fly and began. Yes, I pissed blood now. Great. Lovely. By the next evening I’d be fine, but this felt awful.

Valentine couldn’t help but notice the red stream. “What ails you?’ he asked, frowning.

“My kidneys, apparently,” I said, finishing and tucking back in.

Before I could go back inside, Valentine yanked the hem of my shirt up and exposed my back. I didn’t know what sort of marks I had there, not able to see, but I got a reaction from him. He dropped my shirt and stood back, his expression disturbed. His eyes floated around, not lighting on me.

“Maybe I taste good because I’m tenderized?” I asked, chuckling.

“You joke about it,” he said, anger flashing in his eyes. “Do you like it when I hit you?”

“No.” No, not really. I enjoyed the display of his emotion, certainly.

“Then why do you goad me?”

“Because you need it, fucking Turk,” I said, leaving him on the porch.

I’d just settled back down when he returned. Taking off my glasses, I ignored him and shut my eyes.

“Cloud and the others will return in two hours,” he announced. “They’ve gone to check out the other cabin.”

“Unless that’s code for let-me-suck-your-cock,-Professor-Hojo, shut up,” I replied. “There’s probably blood in my come too, if you’re particularly thirsty. That would be a good vintage.”

“You disgust me.” Valentine’s growl electrified the room.

“You have to get the mako somehow.” I rolled onto my side, wincing in pain as various bruises reminded me of their existence. “You might as well make it on your terms as to let me rape you at Strife’s request again.”

“You won’t get a second time.” Valentine stood over me.

I put on my glasses so I could see it if he brought a fist down. His beautiful, terrible face spoke of how thinly I rode the edge of his patience. Smiling, I admired that body a moment. I had nothing to lose by openly letching his undead ass. “Brave words for a man with two more days of strength,” I murmured. “You should be grateful for me, Turk. Your best friend, the other candidate for the job, can’t get it up for rape. Without me you’d be paralyzed or dead. Well, as close to dead as you’ll ever get.”

“Time to shut up,” he said softly.

“But you know, it might work if I just come on you, especially in a soft place with lots of pores,” I went on. “Would you like to try that instead? I think I’d really, really enjoy shooting a load on your pretty face.”

“Goddamn you, Hojo, shut up!”

“Or, you could just be a man about it and suck me off. You’d be done with it for a few more days. I could even just jerk myself and you could wait until I gave warning. One good tonsil spray and you’re home-free.”

I saw the kick coming but I lay trapped in the sleeping bag and unable to avoid it. He struck me in the only place currently not agonizingly sore. Drawing back, he did it four more times. I coughed up a wad of blood and spat it on his odd, metallic boots. “That’s the spirit, jock,” I said, my vision swimming.